


She Danced

by gothambeat



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Domestic Avengers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-05
Updated: 2014-11-05
Packaged: 2018-02-24 04:57:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2569010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gothambeat/pseuds/gothambeat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She danced. Once upon a time, Natasha was something else. Slight Movie/comic verse combining.</p>
            </blockquote>





	She Danced

She danced, once.

Before the world knew of the infamous Black Widow that took down SHIELD, Natasha danced. The secret came out at one of the Avengers’ new weekly rituals of Friday Night during an interesting game of Truth or Dare. Steve bench-pressed all of them at once on the couch and Bucky drank the worst drink any of them had ever seen thanks to Thor’s unusual stock of interstellar beers. Stark backed out of a Truth by one of his usual word games.

Knowing Natasha would beat down any dare thrown her way, Tony commanded she tell them a secret. 

“You can google that,” she reminded him, swirling her beer in the bottle. 

“Something you can’t google.”

“Okay,” she said. She sat up, thinking what she wanted to part with. It came down to dancing.

“No way,” Tony said with a laugh.

“You were a dancer?” Steve asked. 

“Was this before or after the spy thing because I can’t see you in tights,” Stark continued. “Ballet?”

“Yes, ballet and that’s a secret for next round.” She grinned and let them work it out. “Banner, truth or dare?”

“Better go with truth,” he said, eying the chips. 

__

She kept up with it. After every work out she stretches and feels her muscles relax then tighten. A few things are trickier these days. Her hips are stiffer and more prone to fighting and she bet she didn’t look as good in a tutu anymore. But her legs can split and her ankles turn out enough to get the moves in. So when the music starts, when she takes position, her limps do the rest almost on their own.

Muscle memory, she knows. She could hear her teacher yelling in the background, counting the best off with his hands. Turn out. Shoulders back. Straight legs. More Natasha, do it again. Do it better. Until your body knows the moves, the memory in her muscles taking over. Automatic. Strategic. 

Tchaikovsky is completed for her, these days. It’s beautiful, the way the music plays out. But the notes ignite something in her and her feet take her across the training room like she was back on stage. A little girl, wanting to be a ballerina but bring trained to kill.

She turns and turns, watching herself in the mirror over and over and over, never changing just like it was all the same. It feels the same every time she dances, that she will always be in that red room.

A hand touches her’s. It’s cold despite the heat from the room and she looks up to see James. He might be the only one that understands, the only one that’s been through the same thing. Barton understands the pain, but not this. Not this dance. 

James doesn’t know how to dance but he tries. He follows her arms with his own and walks across the floor with her, offering support if she needed. He watches her in the mirror with the intensity she watches herself. Until the music swells to it’s great finale, Natasha dances gracefully. But the final notes are something of a mark and Tchaikovsky was always good with emotions. She spots the drop in her posture. Her legs shake and her toes hurt, splitting from the strain after so long. It terrifies her that everyone knows her and yet, no one does. No one. Not even herself. Not even her body anymore.

She signals James to stay put so she can dance this out herself. The pain pooling in her feet and her arms are tired from holding them up. It’s not unlike normal strain from missions, not unlike regular sparring, not unlike anything else she does. Just accompanied by beautiful music. 

She runs across the floor and then leaps, ready to fall and collapse. James catches her. It’s not graceful but it’s strong and powerful. He wraps his arms around her and pulls her close. They both land on the floor from the force and he cradles her close, wiping her face. She didn’t realize her crying.

“Better?” He asks after a while. His voice is low and comforting, like a secret passed in the night. She nods but she doesn’t really know. He understands that too, never really knowing whether “better” is an option. But she’s here, where she’d rather be, then dancing for the men that put the red in his history.


End file.
